At the start of the week. . .
The stone has been rolled and the stone table shattered, for the deep magic demanding the blood of traitors has been sated. Our hearts of stone, too, shattered, replaced with…
Why beauty calls to us
The sun draws us all with her warmth. Blossoms burst open on bare stems, life pouring forth too urgently to await the slower springing of leaves. Robins hop and sing,…
When you wait long
I read them this morning, words of emptiness and ache. Words of deep hope. “We do not see our signs. . .” Along with our signs, our emblems, we…